Friday night we threw a 50th anniversary party for my parents. It was a grand culmination of months of planning and subterfuge. I want to publicly thank all of my siblings and nieces and nephews for all of their contributions. I wholeheartedly appreciate how everyone stepped up to do their part in honoring Mom and Dad.
Along the road of life, there are things that you just have to do. No matter what your personal circumstances are the time, or what your attitude is at the time, there are times when you just have to suck it up and be appropriate.
And that is when you know that you are a true adult. My nieces and nephews are now all either well on their way to adulthood, or are already there.
We may not be the classiest bunch...a niece asking the priest what abortion was, me introduing said priest as "Mister Father McFadden!" (oh yes, I actually said that), Alex, during his tribute, pronouncing "tres chic" as if it rhymed with "dress trick", I could go on for days...but we're certainly not boring.
My sister-in-law Sue said it best when she said "You know, say whatever you want about us Lewises; we may bitch and moan a lot along the way, but in the end, we always pull it together and do the right thing".
Amen, sister
I love every last one of you insanely irritating and obnoxiously opinionated Bob & Jan Lewis offspring!!!!!!!!!!
It's been fun. Let's not do it again for awhile.
Crap. Brooke's getting married next summer......
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Dishes of Steel
This has nothing to do with anything important, but it just needs to be said. Fiesta ware dishes are the sturdiest dishes around.
I got my Fiesta dishes way back in the day, almost 15 years ago. I have broken a few pieces over the years, but you will find nary a chip on the dishes that remain.
In contrast, the set of dishes I bought from Target only 6 years ago have chipped so much that food in our home is now served on ceramic shards. These dishes chip if they so much as graze another surface.
The description says "dishwasher safe". What that means is, the ceramic piece that chip off will be large enough that they won't get into your filter. So your dishwasher won't break, even though the dishes will.
My Fiesta ware dishes do not get hot in the microwave. You can heat up leftovers, and take the plate out with your bare hand.
Unlike the Target dishes, which will take the skin off of your hand after 30 seconds in the microwave.
This just goes to prove my husband's point...
Quality, quality, quality....It pays to buy quality...
I got my Fiesta dishes way back in the day, almost 15 years ago. I have broken a few pieces over the years, but you will find nary a chip on the dishes that remain.
In contrast, the set of dishes I bought from Target only 6 years ago have chipped so much that food in our home is now served on ceramic shards. These dishes chip if they so much as graze another surface.
The description says "dishwasher safe". What that means is, the ceramic piece that chip off will be large enough that they won't get into your filter. So your dishwasher won't break, even though the dishes will.
My Fiesta ware dishes do not get hot in the microwave. You can heat up leftovers, and take the plate out with your bare hand.
Unlike the Target dishes, which will take the skin off of your hand after 30 seconds in the microwave.
This just goes to prove my husband's point...
Quality, quality, quality....It pays to buy quality...
Love Takes Time
Found these pictures of Colson and Ava today.....Have you ever...
The sad part is, I don't remember anything about them at this age. I look at these pictures and almost can't believe that those were my kids. I don't know if it's because I was still in my obese coma, from having gained 80 pounds and then 60 pounds in a 20 month span, or if it's because I got pregnant with Ava 7 weeks after having Colson, but it's as if they didn't come to life for me until they were 2 or 3 years old.
It's not that I didn't love them before then, I did. But I wasn't "in love" with them (to coin a popular phrase) until they were 2 or 3. When the nurse put each of them in my arms after they were born, I felt like I was looking at casual acquaintances, that I knew I had to take really good care of. I didn't "feel" that instant looooooove thang.....
But once they really became "people", and I was able to connect with them brain on brain, that's when I fell madly IN love with them. It's as if I just didn't realize, when they were babies, what they were going to turn into. With babies, your job is so simple. A monkey could do it...in fact, they do. Feed, clothe, bathe, hold, sleep...repeat.
But once those babies can communicate and think and make choices, they become so interesting and challenging, and that is exciting.
When I had Zachary, it was very different. When the nurse gave him to me after he was born, I looked into his eyes and fell immediately and hard. I'll never know if it was because I had figured out how to love babies, because I realized what they turn into. Or if was something about Zachary himself that caused that reaction. Or if it was because I had finally fully recovered from my 2 year hormonal obese pregnancy stint.
Poor Cole and Ava...I wish I had known them then.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Books I Love, Part 2
Roald Dahl.....what images come to mind when you hear that name? Flowing rivers of chocolate, entire worlds inside of pieces of fruit, glass eyes in mugs of beer....one thing is for sure, the image that comes to mind will be a very abstract one. Roald Dahl's stories are an amuesment park for the abstract mind.
My personal Roald Dahl favorite has always been The BFG.
The BFG (Big Friendly Giant) is the only giant that is not a cannibal. He is a dream catcher. He catches dreams, and the blows them into the windows of sleeping children. Sophie is a little girl from an orphanage who happens to see him one night. Because she saw him, he has to take her with him. He shows her the other giants, who eat people every night. Together they devise a plan to capture the giants.
The BFG is the most wonderful character. Even though he is the runt of the giants, his strength of character is huge. The giants torment him for not eating humans, and yet he refuses to become like them. Even the thought of eating disgusting snozzcumbers for the rest of his life doesn't make him question his choice to do what he believes is right.
He takes Sophie with him one night to catch dreams. This part of the story has always put such great visuals in my head. What the dreams look like when you put them into the jar....seeing the BFG figure out what the dream is about and write it on the label...his reaction to catching a nightmare...
I always loved the way the BFG spoke. He was uneducated, but would come out with the greatest truisms...for instance, when Sophie expresses her disbelief that a vegetable called a snozzcumber exists, he says:
"Yesterday, we was not believing in giants, was we? Today we is not believing in snozzcumbers. Just because we happen not to have actually seen something with our own two winkles, we think it is not existing. The matter with human beans is that they is absolutely refusing to believe in anything unless they is actually seeing it right in front of their own schnozzles."
Ain't it the truth...
And A Child Shall Lead Them
One of my favorite things in the world is seeing what kids do with the world, from their limited base of knowledge and experience.
For this reason, I try very hard to allow my kids to come to conclusions about certain things on their own. It's incredibly interesting to me, to see their instinctive reactions when they haven't been given someone else's point of view.
An example of this is skin color. Eric and I have never talked about skin color in any capacity in front of the kids. We never really talked about NOT talking about it, it just ended up that way. So we've always been curious when the kids would notice that on their own, and how they would express it.
The other day, Ava was sitting at the kitchen table coloring. She had drawn a picture of 2 girls holding hands.
Me: "What are you drawing?"
Ava: "It's two girls, one has white skin, and one has brown skin.....but they can still be friends!"
(I wondered at this point if she was saying something she had heard on TV, or if it was her own conclusion)
Me: "Where did you hear about brown skinned people?"
Ava: "When I was at Luke's birthday party, at McDonald's, I saw a girl who had brown skin, and we played together and were friends anyway!"
Quite different from Cole's first observation of racial difference....when he was 3, he saw a black man walk past with a really full afro. Cole says "Mom, that man looks like he's from the jungle!"
I wonder what Zachary's first comment on racial differences will be........I can't wait, it's sure to be a doozy!
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
For this reason, I try very hard to allow my kids to come to conclusions about certain things on their own. It's incredibly interesting to me, to see their instinctive reactions when they haven't been given someone else's point of view.
An example of this is skin color. Eric and I have never talked about skin color in any capacity in front of the kids. We never really talked about NOT talking about it, it just ended up that way. So we've always been curious when the kids would notice that on their own, and how they would express it.
The other day, Ava was sitting at the kitchen table coloring. She had drawn a picture of 2 girls holding hands.
Me: "What are you drawing?"
Ava: "It's two girls, one has white skin, and one has brown skin.....but they can still be friends!"
(I wondered at this point if she was saying something she had heard on TV, or if it was her own conclusion)
Me: "Where did you hear about brown skinned people?"
Ava: "When I was at Luke's birthday party, at McDonald's, I saw a girl who had brown skin, and we played together and were friends anyway!"
Quite different from Cole's first observation of racial difference....when he was 3, he saw a black man walk past with a really full afro. Cole says "Mom, that man looks like he's from the jungle!"
I wonder what Zachary's first comment on racial differences will be........I can't wait, it's sure to be a doozy!
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
Monday, August 25, 2008
Explore The Book, 1st and 2nd Samuel
I will be posting video of Bob Lewis's "Explore The Book" class, which he holds at Christ's Church of the Valley every Thursday night at 7. I encourage everyone to come out to this class. You will be amazed by what you learn.
For more Bob, go to http://www.navcadinfo.blogspot.com/
I apologize for this clip, which is only the first 40 minutes or so of last week's class. I neglected to change the resolution of the video before I started filming, so the memory card couldn't hold the full hour. Next week I will post the session in it's entirety.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
For more Bob, go to http://www.navcadinfo.blogspot.com/
I apologize for this clip, which is only the first 40 minutes or so of last week's class. I neglected to change the resolution of the video before I started filming, so the memory card couldn't hold the full hour. Next week I will post the session in it's entirety.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Who Wears The Pants?
I spent the day in NYC yesterday judging a same-sex ballroom/latin/country dance competition.
I must say I prefer when both partners wear the same type of outfit, either both in dresses, or both in tuxes. In same-sex dancing, during the course of one dance, the leader becomes the follower and the follower the leader. I personally don't like the appearance of the dress leading the tux. When the costumes are the same style, the change in lead doesn't jolt my senses for some reason.
There were some amazing women's Standard couples. One of the female Standard ladies in Group A wore these fantastic feather caps, like bathing caps that Esther Williams wore. The feathers would match her dress, electric blue, fushia, etc. She was European and older, and carried those feather wigs off as if she was the Queen. I loved it. Talked to her later, found out she lost all of her hair 10 years ago, and decided to make interesting wigs and hats her "thing". Love that...
Why do I support same-sex dancing? I've been same sex dancing since I first learned to dance, back in the K.P. Corral days. There were never enough guys to go around, so I always ended up being the "guy". I'm 5'11", so it only made sense.
I believe I am the dancer and coach I am today in part because I was always "being the guy". I know what I want to feel as a follower, and because I have learned to lead, I know how to explain to a leader what to do to give that feeling to the follower.
I enjoy leading, because it puts me back in control for a moment. Choreography is my strong point, and I can put that to use in an immediate form when I'm leading.
For me, it has nothing to do with sexual preference or relationships. It's about expanding your knowledge base. It's about stretching yourself. It's about trying to see things from the other person's point of view. It not only makes you a better dancer, but can make you a better dance partner, and a better person.
And sometimes, it's just nice to be the boss.........
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
I must say I prefer when both partners wear the same type of outfit, either both in dresses, or both in tuxes. In same-sex dancing, during the course of one dance, the leader becomes the follower and the follower the leader. I personally don't like the appearance of the dress leading the tux. When the costumes are the same style, the change in lead doesn't jolt my senses for some reason.
There were some amazing women's Standard couples. One of the female Standard ladies in Group A wore these fantastic feather caps, like bathing caps that Esther Williams wore. The feathers would match her dress, electric blue, fushia, etc. She was European and older, and carried those feather wigs off as if she was the Queen. I loved it. Talked to her later, found out she lost all of her hair 10 years ago, and decided to make interesting wigs and hats her "thing". Love that...
Why do I support same-sex dancing? I've been same sex dancing since I first learned to dance, back in the K.P. Corral days. There were never enough guys to go around, so I always ended up being the "guy". I'm 5'11", so it only made sense.
I believe I am the dancer and coach I am today in part because I was always "being the guy". I know what I want to feel as a follower, and because I have learned to lead, I know how to explain to a leader what to do to give that feeling to the follower.
I enjoy leading, because it puts me back in control for a moment. Choreography is my strong point, and I can put that to use in an immediate form when I'm leading.
For me, it has nothing to do with sexual preference or relationships. It's about expanding your knowledge base. It's about stretching yourself. It's about trying to see things from the other person's point of view. It not only makes you a better dancer, but can make you a better dance partner, and a better person.
And sometimes, it's just nice to be the boss.........
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
Friday, August 22, 2008
Pass Interference, Mein Fuhrer
A conversation between EMo and I last night, watching the Eagles game. There was a referee who's pants were really wide at the hip/upper thigh area, and then tucked into his socks below the knee.
Me: "Whoa, his pants look like riding pants.....what are those called again?"
Eric: "I have no idea"
Me: "It's on the tip of my tongue....Jodhpurs, that's it!"
Eric: "I've never heard that word"
Me: "Really??!??! I can hardly believe that. You've never seen it written? It's spelled j-o-d-h- p-u-r-s"
Eric: "Yeah, didn't know that word."
Me: "You know what I'm talking about, right? The pants that horseback riders wear?"
Eric: "Hello, I've SEEN them, I just didn't know that they had a name"
Eric: ".....Hey, you know who wore jodhpurs...The Nazis!! So you know jodhpurs must have been trendy, cause the Nazis were on the cutting edge, with all their advanced scientific research....you know that's what the Cold War was all about, whether our Germans were smarter than their Germans. You know all the ex-Nazi scientists came over here after World War II was over, and worked for us, and helped us build nuclear weapons."
Me: ".....oh yeah??? Well I know what jodhpurs are......."
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
Me: "Whoa, his pants look like riding pants.....what are those called again?"
Eric: "I have no idea"
Me: "It's on the tip of my tongue....Jodhpurs, that's it!"
Eric: "I've never heard that word"
Me: "Really??!??! I can hardly believe that. You've never seen it written? It's spelled j-o-d-h- p-u-r-s"
Eric: "Yeah, didn't know that word."
Me: "You know what I'm talking about, right? The pants that horseback riders wear?"
Eric: "Hello, I've SEEN them, I just didn't know that they had a name"
Eric: ".....Hey, you know who wore jodhpurs...The Nazis!! So you know jodhpurs must have been trendy, cause the Nazis were on the cutting edge, with all their advanced scientific research....you know that's what the Cold War was all about, whether our Germans were smarter than their Germans. You know all the ex-Nazi scientists came over here after World War II was over, and worked for us, and helped us build nuclear weapons."
Me: ".....oh yeah??? Well I know what jodhpurs are......."
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
Those Nanny-cams Really Work....
I had the strangest dream last night....
I was a nanny, and the couple I worked for was EMo (my husband, as opposed to ELew, my brother) and his wife (not me).
The husband (EMo) and I were having an affair... At one point, the wife caught us. She and Eric were having it out, and I decided to pack my things and go. Eric saw me leaving, and tried to get me to stay, but I said "You need some time to figure things out, I'm going to leave for awhile".
So I literally ran away and tried to stay hidden from everyone. To hide, I stayed at drug rehabilitation centers, figuring no one would look for me there. I would help out the druggie kids while I was at each one...
Strange.......
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
I was a nanny, and the couple I worked for was EMo (my husband, as opposed to ELew, my brother) and his wife (not me).
The husband (EMo) and I were having an affair... At one point, the wife caught us. She and Eric were having it out, and I decided to pack my things and go. Eric saw me leaving, and tried to get me to stay, but I said "You need some time to figure things out, I'm going to leave for awhile".
So I literally ran away and tried to stay hidden from everyone. To hide, I stayed at drug rehabilitation centers, figuring no one would look for me there. I would help out the druggie kids while I was at each one...
Strange.......
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
Thursday, August 21, 2008
My Heroes, Part 1
I've been waiting a few days to write this post, in the hopes that I wouldn't bawl all over my laptop keys in the process.
I have very few heroes in this life, as you may well imagine. But there are a few, and I will start with the most recent addition to my list.
My 4th oldest niece, Brooke Suzanne (totally coincidental, or maybe providential??), has joined my short list.
A couple of years ago, Brooke came to me to finally share a story of something awful that happened to her as a young girl. She came to me, knowing that something similar had happened to me. When she told me, many years had passed since that time. She had been working through it with the help of her boyfriend, and Life Counseling.
She was then able to do what I wasn't; she figured out what she wanted to do about the situation, what would bring about the most healing for her. And then she did it. Her choice involved her having to do something that had to be the scariest, and most painful thing I've ever heard of, but she did it with the strongest of resolve.
She is the toughest cookie you'd ever want to meet, and yet through her horrifying experience, she never lost her love for God, or her heart for people.
She has recently gotten engaged, and I couldn't be any happier. After what she's been through, marriage and child-raising should be a breeze for her!
If you ever get a chance to meet her, listen closely and take notes. She is a wonderful example of how to handle tragedy and break through to the other side without letting it ruin you.
And if you want a REAL role model for your daughters (Hannah Montana has NOTHING on her), introduce them to Brooke Lewis.
Welcome To Being Suzanne Mosley
p.s., does this post count as a wedding present??!?!?? ;o)
I have very few heroes in this life, as you may well imagine. But there are a few, and I will start with the most recent addition to my list.
My 4th oldest niece, Brooke Suzanne (totally coincidental, or maybe providential??), has joined my short list.
A couple of years ago, Brooke came to me to finally share a story of something awful that happened to her as a young girl. She came to me, knowing that something similar had happened to me. When she told me, many years had passed since that time. She had been working through it with the help of her boyfriend, and Life Counseling.
She was then able to do what I wasn't; she figured out what she wanted to do about the situation, what would bring about the most healing for her. And then she did it. Her choice involved her having to do something that had to be the scariest, and most painful thing I've ever heard of, but she did it with the strongest of resolve.
She is the toughest cookie you'd ever want to meet, and yet through her horrifying experience, she never lost her love for God, or her heart for people.
She has recently gotten engaged, and I couldn't be any happier. After what she's been through, marriage and child-raising should be a breeze for her!
If you ever get a chance to meet her, listen closely and take notes. She is a wonderful example of how to handle tragedy and break through to the other side without letting it ruin you.
And if you want a REAL role model for your daughters (Hannah Montana has NOTHING on her), introduce them to Brooke Lewis.
Welcome To Being Suzanne Mosley
p.s., does this post count as a wedding present??!?!?? ;o)
Friday, August 15, 2008
I Need A Sponsor...
I have discovered that I am addicted to food.
And I don't mean I'm addicted like "Oh my gosh, I just looooove chocolate!!"
I mean addicted like "I need a sugar fix so badly right now that I just might stab you in the thigh to get at those cookies".
Having a week full of extreme tension, while I was dieting, pointed this out to me. Driving home from the ER at 11:30 on Thursday night, all I could think of was a PBJ with Fritos and a box of chocolate chip cookies...that is all I wanted. I was almost twitching. It took every ounce of willpower that I had to not eat those things when I got home. I felt like a recovering alcoholic.
Carbs and sugar comfort me. They soothe my nerves. Nothing else does for me what they do.
They are like heroin to me. My track marks aren't on my arms, they're on my inner thighs and lower abs...
I need a 12 step program.
Or maybe I just need to try heroin to take my mind off of cookies....
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
And I don't mean I'm addicted like "Oh my gosh, I just looooove chocolate!!"
I mean addicted like "I need a sugar fix so badly right now that I just might stab you in the thigh to get at those cookies".
Having a week full of extreme tension, while I was dieting, pointed this out to me. Driving home from the ER at 11:30 on Thursday night, all I could think of was a PBJ with Fritos and a box of chocolate chip cookies...that is all I wanted. I was almost twitching. It took every ounce of willpower that I had to not eat those things when I got home. I felt like a recovering alcoholic.
Carbs and sugar comfort me. They soothe my nerves. Nothing else does for me what they do.
They are like heroin to me. My track marks aren't on my arms, they're on my inner thighs and lower abs...
I need a 12 step program.
Or maybe I just need to try heroin to take my mind off of cookies....
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
Catch Me A Catch
I was going through old pictures, and found this one hidden in a file folder somewhere...This is the picture that Eric had posted on matchmaker.com, where we "met" (maybe that story will come later). How cute was he??!?!
(Kinda Michael Phelps-esque, eh?)
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
Thursday, August 14, 2008
The Phone, The Phone Is Ringing
Romantic comedies are adult versions of The Wonder Pets.
Every single episode is exactly the same. They each follow the same plot progression. The animals might be a little different, the "trouble" situation might be a little different, the method in which "we have to help them" might be a little different, but the plot/storyline is EXACTLY THE SAME. The celery that they eat at the end might be a little different, but T H E S A M E....
The quintessential romantic comedy, When Harry Met Sally, was the only one that ever needed to be made. It was the original and, in my opinion, the ONLY romantic comedy. None that have come since have needed to be made. It's been done, it was great, NOW STOP!
Studio heads sit around and say "Okay, let's do another one. Who should we plug in as Ming-Ming? Kate Hudson? Jennifer Lopez? Katherine Heigel? Okay! Next...who's Tuck? Patrick Dempsey? Matthew McConaughy? Hugh Grant? Okay!
What's the animal in trouble this time? The Best Man is in love with the bride? The guy is a big jerk and offends everyone? They live on opposite sides of the planet and meet as pen pals while children but then lose touch? Okay!
What is going to be the "we have to help them"? The Best Man kisses the bride minutes before she walks down the aisle and she realizes he's the one? The girl leaves the jerky guy in the middle of the night, and he realizes how much he loves her and changes his entire personality to win her back? The guy and girl accidentally bump into each other in Central Park as adults, and spend a year at each other's throats before they realize it's their long lost love? Okay!
The celery for this one? The bride kicks the original groom out, and replaces him with Best Man and they get married? The I-Used-To-Be-An-Ass guy searches high and low and finds the girl who left and begs her to forgive him and they live happily ever after? The long lost pen pals realize that they still love each other after all these years, and move to France to open an art gallery together? Okay!
We have a movie!
Every so often you'll find one that has ONE funny line...like "What is driftwood? It's wood....that drifts..." But that's just coincidence, and one moderately funny line doesn't a great movie make.
Anyone who says to me "Oh, I love 27 Dresses!", or "I love Maid in Manhattan!", just know that in my head the phone, the phone is ringing, and I'm itching to ask to see your driver's license, because I won't be able to believe that you are over the age of 6.
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
*Thinking about it more, they're also like MadLibs. Remember those?
Girl and guy (insert verb). They encounter (insert conflict). Girl decides to (insert adverb)(insert verb) guy. Guy stops (insert annoying habit). Girl forgives him and they (insert romantic cliche).
Every single episode is exactly the same. They each follow the same plot progression. The animals might be a little different, the "trouble" situation might be a little different, the method in which "we have to help them" might be a little different, but the plot/storyline is EXACTLY THE SAME. The celery that they eat at the end might be a little different, but T H E S A M E....
The quintessential romantic comedy, When Harry Met Sally, was the only one that ever needed to be made. It was the original and, in my opinion, the ONLY romantic comedy. None that have come since have needed to be made. It's been done, it was great, NOW STOP!
Studio heads sit around and say "Okay, let's do another one. Who should we plug in as Ming-Ming? Kate Hudson? Jennifer Lopez? Katherine Heigel? Okay! Next...who's Tuck? Patrick Dempsey? Matthew McConaughy? Hugh Grant? Okay!
What's the animal in trouble this time? The Best Man is in love with the bride? The guy is a big jerk and offends everyone? They live on opposite sides of the planet and meet as pen pals while children but then lose touch? Okay!
What is going to be the "we have to help them"? The Best Man kisses the bride minutes before she walks down the aisle and she realizes he's the one? The girl leaves the jerky guy in the middle of the night, and he realizes how much he loves her and changes his entire personality to win her back? The guy and girl accidentally bump into each other in Central Park as adults, and spend a year at each other's throats before they realize it's their long lost love? Okay!
The celery for this one? The bride kicks the original groom out, and replaces him with Best Man and they get married? The I-Used-To-Be-An-Ass guy searches high and low and finds the girl who left and begs her to forgive him and they live happily ever after? The long lost pen pals realize that they still love each other after all these years, and move to France to open an art gallery together? Okay!
We have a movie!
Every so often you'll find one that has ONE funny line...like "What is driftwood? It's wood....that drifts..." But that's just coincidence, and one moderately funny line doesn't a great movie make.
Anyone who says to me "Oh, I love 27 Dresses!", or "I love Maid in Manhattan!", just know that in my head the phone, the phone is ringing, and I'm itching to ask to see your driver's license, because I won't be able to believe that you are over the age of 6.
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
*Thinking about it more, they're also like MadLibs. Remember those?
Girl and guy (insert verb). They encounter (insert conflict). Girl decides to (insert adverb)(insert verb) guy. Guy stops (insert annoying habit). Girl forgives him and they (insert romantic cliche).
Monday, August 11, 2008
Books I Love, Part 1
I am a huge reader. I read all the time, and have since I was 4 or 5 years old. My favorite category of literature has always been children's books. I have decided to share my reviews of the books that had profound effects on my soul.
I will begin with Anne of Green Gables.
Looking back, Anne was probably my first encounter with an abstract child in a book. Laura Ingalls wasn't, she was my first heroine love. But from the first moment Anne was asked to come inside to wait, and she said that there was more "scope for the imagination outside", I knew that I had found someone I wanted to know. And then when, shortly thereafter, she says to Matthew: "I'm very glad to see you. I was beginning to be afraid you weren't coming for me and I was imagining all the things that might have happened to prevent you. I had made up my mind that if you didn't come for me to-night I'd go down the track to that big wild cherry-tree at the bend, and climb up into it to stay all night. I wouldn't be a bit afraid, and it would be lovely to sleep in a wild cherry-tree all white with bloom in the moonshine, don't you think? You could imagine you were dwelling in marble halls, couldn't you? And I was quite sure you would come for me in the morning, if you didn't to-night.", I knew that I was in love.
Anne Shirley remains one of my favorite characters of all time. She was so full of everything that I love in a person. She had a flair for the dramatic, a never-ending enthusiasm for life, a creative imagination that was always working overtime, and a belief that the world and everything in it was basically good.
On her drive home with Matthew, her adoptive father, she says: ""Why, a bride, of course--a bride all in white with a lovely misty veil. I've never seen one, but I can imagine what she would look like. I don't ever expect to be a bride myself. I'm so homely nobody will ever want to marry me-- unless it might be a foreign missionary. I suppose a foreign missionary mightn't be very particular. But I do hope that some day I shall have a white dress. That is my highest ideal of earthly bliss. I just love pretty clothes. And I've never had a pretty dress in my life that I can remember--but of course it's all the more to look forward to, isn't it? And then I can imagine that I'm dressed gorgeously. This morning when I left the asylum I felt so ashamed because I had to wear this horrid old wincey dress. All the orphans had to wear them, you know. A merchant in Hopeton last winter donated three hundred yards of wincey to the asylum. Some people said it was because he couldn't sell it, but I'd rather believe that it was out of the kindness of his heart, wouldn't you? When we got on the train I felt as if everybody must be looking at me and pitying me. But I just went to work and imagined that I had on the most beautiful pale blue silk dress--because when you ARE imagining you might as well imagine something worth while--and a big hat all flowers and nodding plumes, and a gold watch, and kid gloves and boots. I felt cheered up right away and I enjoyed my trip to the Island with all my might. I wasn't a bit sick coming over in the boat. Neither was Mrs. Spencer although she generally is. She said she hadn't time to get sick, watching to see that I didn't fall overboard. She said she never saw the beat of me for prowling about. But if it kept her from being seasick it's a mercy I did prowl, isn't it? And I wanted to see everything that was to be seen on that boat, because I didn't know whether I'd ever have another opportunity. Oh, there are a lot more cherry-trees all in bloom! This Island is the bloomiest place. I just love it already, and I'm so glad I'm going to live here. I've always heard that Prince Edward Island was the prettiest place in the world, and I used to imagine I was living here, but I never really expected I would. It's delightful when your imaginations come true, isn't it? But those red roads are so funny. When we got into the train at Charlottetown and the red roads began to flash past I asked Mrs. Spencer what made them red and she said she didn't know and for pity's sake not to ask her any more questions. She said I must have asked her a thousand already. I suppose I had, too, but how you going to find out about things if you don't ask questions? And what DOES make the roads red?"
Can't you just hear her freshly scrubbed eyes??
Anne called Diana Barry, her best friend, a kindred spirit. It always made me sad, because for some reason I always felt like Diana was NOT a kindred spirit for Anne. Diana was a sweet girl, but so simple. Everytime she shook her head desparingly and said "Oh Anne....", I knew that she was wrong for Anne. I knew that I was the kindred spirit that Anne was looking for. I knew that I understood and loved Anne much more than Diana ever could.
But Anne didn't mind being misunderstood. She spent the entire series of books being misunderstood. I remember reading the books over and over, hoping that Anne could somehow feel my understanding of her through the pages...
Imagine my joy when as a young adult I found out that there actually was a Prince Edward Island, and a Green Gables! It was only a little more exciting than when the television movie version came out (Things That Make Me Cry, Part 2). My own kindred spirit , who shares my love of Anne Shirley, and I have vowed to take our daughters to Prince Edward Island together one day. Tissues aplenty will be used on that trip.
I would have loved to have Anne Shirley as a friend. But I never met an Anne Shirley...
Until I met Eric Mosley (Eric with a "c"), and as it turned out, I married Anne of Green Gables, and then shortly thereafter gave birth to another Anne. My life is now full of Anne.
So take that, Diana Barry. I've got two Anne's, and I even get to sleep with one of them....
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
I will begin with Anne of Green Gables.
Looking back, Anne was probably my first encounter with an abstract child in a book. Laura Ingalls wasn't, she was my first heroine love. But from the first moment Anne was asked to come inside to wait, and she said that there was more "scope for the imagination outside", I knew that I had found someone I wanted to know. And then when, shortly thereafter, she says to Matthew: "I'm very glad to see you. I was beginning to be afraid you weren't coming for me and I was imagining all the things that might have happened to prevent you. I had made up my mind that if you didn't come for me to-night I'd go down the track to that big wild cherry-tree at the bend, and climb up into it to stay all night. I wouldn't be a bit afraid, and it would be lovely to sleep in a wild cherry-tree all white with bloom in the moonshine, don't you think? You could imagine you were dwelling in marble halls, couldn't you? And I was quite sure you would come for me in the morning, if you didn't to-night.", I knew that I was in love.
Anne Shirley remains one of my favorite characters of all time. She was so full of everything that I love in a person. She had a flair for the dramatic, a never-ending enthusiasm for life, a creative imagination that was always working overtime, and a belief that the world and everything in it was basically good.
On her drive home with Matthew, her adoptive father, she says: ""Why, a bride, of course--a bride all in white with a lovely misty veil. I've never seen one, but I can imagine what she would look like. I don't ever expect to be a bride myself. I'm so homely nobody will ever want to marry me-- unless it might be a foreign missionary. I suppose a foreign missionary mightn't be very particular. But I do hope that some day I shall have a white dress. That is my highest ideal of earthly bliss. I just love pretty clothes. And I've never had a pretty dress in my life that I can remember--but of course it's all the more to look forward to, isn't it? And then I can imagine that I'm dressed gorgeously. This morning when I left the asylum I felt so ashamed because I had to wear this horrid old wincey dress. All the orphans had to wear them, you know. A merchant in Hopeton last winter donated three hundred yards of wincey to the asylum. Some people said it was because he couldn't sell it, but I'd rather believe that it was out of the kindness of his heart, wouldn't you? When we got on the train I felt as if everybody must be looking at me and pitying me. But I just went to work and imagined that I had on the most beautiful pale blue silk dress--because when you ARE imagining you might as well imagine something worth while--and a big hat all flowers and nodding plumes, and a gold watch, and kid gloves and boots. I felt cheered up right away and I enjoyed my trip to the Island with all my might. I wasn't a bit sick coming over in the boat. Neither was Mrs. Spencer although she generally is. She said she hadn't time to get sick, watching to see that I didn't fall overboard. She said she never saw the beat of me for prowling about. But if it kept her from being seasick it's a mercy I did prowl, isn't it? And I wanted to see everything that was to be seen on that boat, because I didn't know whether I'd ever have another opportunity. Oh, there are a lot more cherry-trees all in bloom! This Island is the bloomiest place. I just love it already, and I'm so glad I'm going to live here. I've always heard that Prince Edward Island was the prettiest place in the world, and I used to imagine I was living here, but I never really expected I would. It's delightful when your imaginations come true, isn't it? But those red roads are so funny. When we got into the train at Charlottetown and the red roads began to flash past I asked Mrs. Spencer what made them red and she said she didn't know and for pity's sake not to ask her any more questions. She said I must have asked her a thousand already. I suppose I had, too, but how you going to find out about things if you don't ask questions? And what DOES make the roads red?"
Can't you just hear her freshly scrubbed eyes??
Anne called Diana Barry, her best friend, a kindred spirit. It always made me sad, because for some reason I always felt like Diana was NOT a kindred spirit for Anne. Diana was a sweet girl, but so simple. Everytime she shook her head desparingly and said "Oh Anne....", I knew that she was wrong for Anne. I knew that I was the kindred spirit that Anne was looking for. I knew that I understood and loved Anne much more than Diana ever could.
But Anne didn't mind being misunderstood. She spent the entire series of books being misunderstood. I remember reading the books over and over, hoping that Anne could somehow feel my understanding of her through the pages...
Imagine my joy when as a young adult I found out that there actually was a Prince Edward Island, and a Green Gables! It was only a little more exciting than when the television movie version came out (Things That Make Me Cry, Part 2). My own kindred spirit , who shares my love of Anne Shirley, and I have vowed to take our daughters to Prince Edward Island together one day. Tissues aplenty will be used on that trip.
I would have loved to have Anne Shirley as a friend. But I never met an Anne Shirley...
Until I met Eric Mosley (Eric with a "c"), and as it turned out, I married Anne of Green Gables, and then shortly thereafter gave birth to another Anne. My life is now full of Anne.
So take that, Diana Barry. I've got two Anne's, and I even get to sleep with one of them....
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
Monday, August 4, 2008
Domo arigato, Mr Roboto
Last year my husband tried to talk me into the Roomba. (For those of you Flintstones out there, the Roomba is a vacuum cleaning robot.)
For the first few years of our marriage, frequency of house cleaning was a cause of much marital conflict. Eric and I have different lengths of time that we can go before cleaning. I actually like to wait until things look pretty dirty, because then when I clean, I get a real sense of satisfaction. Eric would prefer that things were cleaned preventatively. We've pretty much come to a good compromise over the years as it relates to frequency of cleaning, but Eric had a "great idea" last year.
In Eric's dream world, we'd have "people" for everything. People to clean, people to cook, people to do repairs and general yard work, etc. He would love to have people....People.....people who need people.................
But in lieu of being able to afford people, he decided that the Roomba was our answer. The Roomba can be programmed to vacuum your house whenever you want it to. You can program it to come out when you go to bed, and you will wake up to clean floors. There is also a hard floor option, the Scooba, which works the same way.
Eric explained the wonders of the Roomba to me. You put the Roomba's base under a couch or something, and you can program it to wake up whenever you want it to, when you're asleep, when you're out of the house, on vacation. The Roomba navigates a room on it's own, avoiding the furniture. It knows when it's about to fall down the stairs, and stops. It knows when it's battery is about to die, and it returns to it's base on it's own.
As I was listening to Eric describe the Roomba, my mind started taking me on a strange journey...I was envisioning going to bed at night, and this little robot coming out from under the couch and moving slowly around the floors of my house. A robot that "knows" things....I started thinking "what if it can also LEARN things"...if it knows that it's about to fall DOWN the stairs, how long would it take for it to figure out how to CLIMB stairs and figure out where I'm sleeping? I wondered if I'd even be able to sleep at night, knowing this little robot that "knows" things was roaming my house. Wondering if the Roomba was trying to get into the kids' rooms..
Then my mind moved to a Gremlin theory, wondering if the little Roomba accidentally knocked over a glass of water on itself, would it morph into TWO Roombas?? Would I wake up one morning to thousands of Roombas rolling around my bedroom floor, just waiting for me to stick my little toe out of bed so they could vacuum it up?!??!??! DON'T BUY THE ROOMBA!!!!
Even though I am an intelligent 34 year old woman, this is where my mind went. Though I knew they were ridiculous, I had a hard time stopping my brain from thinking these thoughts. Imagination can be paralyzing...
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
For the first few years of our marriage, frequency of house cleaning was a cause of much marital conflict. Eric and I have different lengths of time that we can go before cleaning. I actually like to wait until things look pretty dirty, because then when I clean, I get a real sense of satisfaction. Eric would prefer that things were cleaned preventatively. We've pretty much come to a good compromise over the years as it relates to frequency of cleaning, but Eric had a "great idea" last year.
In Eric's dream world, we'd have "people" for everything. People to clean, people to cook, people to do repairs and general yard work, etc. He would love to have people....People.....people who need people.................
But in lieu of being able to afford people, he decided that the Roomba was our answer. The Roomba can be programmed to vacuum your house whenever you want it to. You can program it to come out when you go to bed, and you will wake up to clean floors. There is also a hard floor option, the Scooba, which works the same way.
Eric explained the wonders of the Roomba to me. You put the Roomba's base under a couch or something, and you can program it to wake up whenever you want it to, when you're asleep, when you're out of the house, on vacation. The Roomba navigates a room on it's own, avoiding the furniture. It knows when it's about to fall down the stairs, and stops. It knows when it's battery is about to die, and it returns to it's base on it's own.
As I was listening to Eric describe the Roomba, my mind started taking me on a strange journey...I was envisioning going to bed at night, and this little robot coming out from under the couch and moving slowly around the floors of my house. A robot that "knows" things....I started thinking "what if it can also LEARN things"...if it knows that it's about to fall DOWN the stairs, how long would it take for it to figure out how to CLIMB stairs and figure out where I'm sleeping? I wondered if I'd even be able to sleep at night, knowing this little robot that "knows" things was roaming my house. Wondering if the Roomba was trying to get into the kids' rooms..
Then my mind moved to a Gremlin theory, wondering if the little Roomba accidentally knocked over a glass of water on itself, would it morph into TWO Roombas?? Would I wake up one morning to thousands of Roombas rolling around my bedroom floor, just waiting for me to stick my little toe out of bed so they could vacuum it up?!??!??! DON'T BUY THE ROOMBA!!!!
Even though I am an intelligent 34 year old woman, this is where my mind went. Though I knew they were ridiculous, I had a hard time stopping my brain from thinking these thoughts. Imagination can be paralyzing...
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
Sunday, August 3, 2008
But I Did Not Shoot The Deputy
I will never understand why people buy into the hype that is created when a police officer is killed in the line of duty.
Why is it that police officers deserve such fanfare when they die? And why are their deaths publicized so much more than, say, the generic woman who gets shot at the gas station and dies?
Police officers are regular people. They are no better than you or me. They are no worse than your or me. When they are murdered, the event should be treated exactly the same as when the homeless guy on the corner is murdered.
Don't try to feed me crap about how they are "putting themselves in harm's way for me", either. People CHOOSE to become police officers. A lot of them choose the job because they get a kick out of the adrenalin rush. Yes, it's sad when they are murdered. It's no more sad than any other person's murder.
It drives me wild when a reporter talks about a man who shot 3 children, and then went out and SHOT A COP!!!, and somehow that criminal becomes MORE of a bad guy because he shot a cop.
Even the label "cop killer" drives me insane...you never hear about a "single white female killer" or "middle aged businessman killer". Someone who kills a cop is no different from someone who kills anyone else. And yet you know they are treated more harshly than "regular" murderers...
When did cops become deities?
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
Why is it that police officers deserve such fanfare when they die? And why are their deaths publicized so much more than, say, the generic woman who gets shot at the gas station and dies?
Police officers are regular people. They are no better than you or me. They are no worse than your or me. When they are murdered, the event should be treated exactly the same as when the homeless guy on the corner is murdered.
Don't try to feed me crap about how they are "putting themselves in harm's way for me", either. People CHOOSE to become police officers. A lot of them choose the job because they get a kick out of the adrenalin rush. Yes, it's sad when they are murdered. It's no more sad than any other person's murder.
It drives me wild when a reporter talks about a man who shot 3 children, and then went out and SHOT A COP!!!, and somehow that criminal becomes MORE of a bad guy because he shot a cop.
Even the label "cop killer" drives me insane...you never hear about a "single white female killer" or "middle aged businessman killer". Someone who kills a cop is no different from someone who kills anyone else. And yet you know they are treated more harshly than "regular" murderers...
When did cops become deities?
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
Saturday, August 2, 2008
To All The NF's I've Loved Before....
Why do I love NF's so? I've been thinking about this recently, and thought I'd start jotting down some of the reasons. Here is what attracts me to them initially:
It's something about the eyes...."They" say the eyes are the window to the soul. There is certainly something to that. The eyes of any N go very deep, like an ocean. But the eyes of an NF are like the clear, sparkling blue waters of the Caribbean. The water is very deep, but you can see all the way to the bottom. And the water is so warm. You just want to dive in and wallow around in the honest warmth of it.
The eyes of an NT, on the other hand, are like the waters of the Jersey shore. Very murky, with a slightly suspicious odor, freezing cold, and once you step in, you have NO idea what is lurking below.
With an NF, there are dangers in the water, but you see them coming a mile away. The sharks have nowhere to hide. NT's sharks can come from anywhere, and you never see them coming.
(On a side note, SF's have those same freshly scrubbed eyes, but when you jump in you realize you're in the kiddie pool. The waters don't run very deep, but they are of the same clarity and warmth.)
I've been very lucky to have been surrounded by NF's in my life, and every single one of them has given me the same feelings: my Dad, my middle brother, his wife, my husband, my oldest son Colson, my best friend's parents, her oldest son and her husband. All of these NF's have the power to make me care, which makes them Superheros.
I have even met a new NF, in a class I've been attending at church. She has freshly scrubbed eyes, and I just want to put her in my pocket and take her home.
NF's eyes remind me for a few moments of all that is good and hopeful and inspirational about people and life. For me, talking to NF's is like being on vacation. They're my spoonful of sugar. I could live without them, but I'd be a miserable bastard....
So thank you, all of you NF's who've been part of my life, for keeping me from becoming my worst self.
I realize that after reading through my blog, ya'll probably think you still have much work to do...
Just imagine what I would be without you...
(I realize this post will only be understood by the Myers-Briggsians and Kierseyites out there..)
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
Friday, August 1, 2008
Things That Make Me Cry, Part 1
I know that people think I never cry. My temperament unconsciously works very hard to make sure people never think otherwise.
But it's not true. I actually cry very often. I think people (especially my husband) would be interested to know what sorts of things make me cry.
So here is the first in the list of Suzanne's tear-jerkers: Passion combined with self-sacrifice and perseverance. If a person or story has these elements, I'm down for the count. For this reason, ever since I was a young girl, I have always loved the summer Olympics.
The stories of these athletes, especially the young kids, who have forsaken all of the trivialities of youth to train tirelessly in their chosen sport, can reduce me to a blubbering mess.
And then add in the stories of the parents who have sacrificed their lives to help their children become Faster, Higher, Stronger, and I could joyfully slit my wrists from the gut wrenching beauty of it all...
Stories of the underdogs from the never-heard-of-it countries, who came into the Olympics with no shot at all but then dug deep to find some hidden strength and won the gold medal always make me reach for the hem of my t-shirt to wipe my nose.
Watching a little gymnast execute a perfect vault with a broken ankle, watching a father run down onto the field and help his injured son make it to the finish line, even watching a girl so desperate for an Olympic medal that she would hire someone to bash her toughest competition in the kneecap with a tireiron, emotions hit me so deep in my gut that I feel like throwing up.
Even just clicking on the MP3 widget and hearing the Olympic theme song makes my throat well up....
And I love that feeling...
August 8th can't come soon enough.
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
But it's not true. I actually cry very often. I think people (especially my husband) would be interested to know what sorts of things make me cry.
So here is the first in the list of Suzanne's tear-jerkers: Passion combined with self-sacrifice and perseverance. If a person or story has these elements, I'm down for the count. For this reason, ever since I was a young girl, I have always loved the summer Olympics.
The stories of these athletes, especially the young kids, who have forsaken all of the trivialities of youth to train tirelessly in their chosen sport, can reduce me to a blubbering mess.
And then add in the stories of the parents who have sacrificed their lives to help their children become Faster, Higher, Stronger, and I could joyfully slit my wrists from the gut wrenching beauty of it all...
Stories of the underdogs from the never-heard-of-it countries, who came into the Olympics with no shot at all but then dug deep to find some hidden strength and won the gold medal always make me reach for the hem of my t-shirt to wipe my nose.
Watching a little gymnast execute a perfect vault with a broken ankle, watching a father run down onto the field and help his injured son make it to the finish line, even watching a girl so desperate for an Olympic medal that she would hire someone to bash her toughest competition in the kneecap with a tireiron, emotions hit me so deep in my gut that I feel like throwing up.
Even just clicking on the MP3 widget and hearing the Olympic theme song makes my throat well up....
And I love that feeling...
August 8th can't come soon enough.
Welcome to Being Suzanne Mosley
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